Lost
by SouldierToTheEnd
Summary: Our Lone Wanderer hasn't always been a hero. Not at first. At first she was just a scared little girl, cursing her father's name.


It was too bright. It was too hot. That yellow thing above her was already making her skin itch and tingle. Upon seeing that vastness she fell to her knees, her grip on the pistol tightening. Paralyzed. Muscles clenched, eyes widened and watered. First instinct she had was to run back into the cave and pound on the vault door, begging Amata to let her back in. It would be useless. The impenetrable metal of the circular entrance would not yield to some kid's clawing. Amata would not even want her back.

Instead she curled into herself, perched on top of a high rock, staring out into the unfamiliar land. This was it. The stuff of nightmares, the horrors of a ruthless world that the Overseer and her father had been instilling in her ever since she could listen.

Not for the first time or last time that day, she cursed her father.

She inched her way back until the rocks met her back. She tucked her feet in and popped the collar of her new leather jacket. At least it was warm; there was a slight chill to the Capital's breeze. She could still feel the lingering heat of the jacket's previous owner, the scent of pomade reaching her nose. Suddenly she missed her former bully. If he could see her right now, he would yell at her, telling her to stop freaking the fuck out and get a move on. But he was not there. So she continued staring out into the Wastes, immobile.

The bright yellow of the sky darkened and softened to a reddish-orange, before finally descending behind some mountains in the distance. Even under the shroud of the night and the guidance of the stars, she did not move.

When the sky lightened again and the yellow ascended, her stomach began to stir. She shrugged off her backpack and peered inside. A shit ton of radroach meat, couple bottles of Mrs. DeLoria's vodka, and a bunch of stolen Vault 101 jumpsuits. No water. She won't last long without some proper liquid nourishment. She pushed that shred of logic to the back of her mind before gnawing on the meat, raw, and downing it with the bitter taste of liquor. She grimaced.

The sky darkened even quicker than last time. Despite howling and explosions in the distance, she managed some light sleep, pressed there against the rocks.

When the third day of being outside the Vault arrived, she chastised herself. This was ridiculous. Her father, for all she knew, could be at the other half of the Capital Wasteland. And dehydration was already weakening her body, throat parched and painful. All vodka did was make her mouth feel swollen. She already ended up puking from all the raw meat.

Besides, she thought. Not everyone out in the Wastes were conniving rapists and murderers. Maybe there will be people helpful enough to even give her some fresh water and lodging.

She scoffed. Now that just naïve.

As the third day began to come to an end, she couldn't take it anymore. She stood up slowly, her muscles and bones screaming at her for the movement. She stumbled and leaned against the rock. She stretched all her limbs and tentatively placed her weight back on her legs. Good. That's a start. Stiffly she descended the hill and followed the pre-war road back to the ruins of a town. An eyebot floated nearby, buzzing with what sounded like an anthem. She headed for the right and a few minutes after, froze, staring at her pipboy. Three red marks. Shit. She ducked into the nearest still-standing building and shut the door as quietly as she could.

"Hey! Who do the hell are you?"

She turned to see a blonde-haired woman in rags glare at her, a pistol poised in her hand.

"Where'd you come from? Did Moriarty send you?"

"Moriarty…?"

The woman sighed and lowered her gun. "Sorry, I'm just a bit jumpy lately. I'm Silver. And you are?"

She didn't answer, instead choosing to survey the house. "Do you have any," she licked her dry lips, "water?"

"Yeah." Silver stared at her, not moving a single inch.

"Can I have some?"

Silver barked a laugh. "Get the fuck outta of my house."

She turned her head to the kitchen table. There. A bottle. The water was murky, but goddammit it was water. She lunged for it and drained the entire thing, gasping once she finished.

"Hey! Who the fuck said you could have some!" The pistol was raised again and she managed to dart forward and shoved hard against Silver's middle, as the bullet sliced into the wood of the doorframe. Silver grunted and both fell backward. The pistol began its aim again but she quickly slapped it out of Silver's hand; it landed on the bed shoved into the far corner. Before Silver could squirm, she reared her fist back. The knuckles connected first with the woman's jaw, then her cheek, her brow, her collarbone, her windpipe, her temple. The slick sounds of bones breaking and meat mashing filled the air. Eventually the blows slowed and, breathless, she straightened her spine, staring back down. Silver's face was barely recognizable. Her knuckles protested as she flexed her hand, the bones no doubt shattered. With her good hand, her fingers sought out Silver's neck and found no pulse.

All for water.

She accepted that murder would be an inevitable part of her life from now on, from the moment Amata shook her awake and told her that her father was gone. She accepted it when she pulled the trigger on the Overseer, as Amata screamed as her own father disappeared. Still she heaved bile and the remains of the radroach meat. What the hell happened to her? She was a shift supervisor for fuck's sake. She ran the back of her trembling hand across her mouth and shakily stood to collect her reward.

Inside Silver's pockets she found a heavy pouch that clinked when she shook it. She opened it up and counted 400 total in Nuka Cola bottle caps, whatever that meant. Regardless she dropped it in her backpack. She found enough water to last her throughout the day, along with other junk that she could possibly trade. Satisfied she left the house and took a right this time, passing by the eyebot once again and heading down the opposite way of the road.

She gaped openly when the huge metal slabs opened to reveal a city. Megaton, the robot called it. She ignored the dirty man sitting in the dust, begging for clean water, because goddammit she didn't having any water to spare. A tinge of guilt developed inside, her father's wise voice echoing in her head. Sorry, pops, but out here in the Wastes there's no room for morality and ethics.

She didn't respond immediately when the town's sheriff questioned her. He was visibly unnerved. Absently she asked him about the bomb. He agreed to let her look at it and when talks of a reward came up, she made him double it. Hesitant, he agreed.

It took her less than five minutes to disarm the nuke. The sheriff was in awe.

"Here's the pay you've been promised," he said as he handed a hefty pouch of bottle caps. "Oh, and we have an empty house up there that's in need of some living in. You want it?"

That was easier than she expected it.

The robot inside greeted her cheerfully, and she did not acknowledge it until it offered some clean, fresh water. She growled at it when it admitted there was no more water to spare, not until another week. She threw away what little was left of the roach meat and instead sated herself with the packaged food that occupied her new refrigerator. Her fingers ached and she loosely tied a cloth around her palm. Flex. Clench. She closed her eyes and recalled the way those haggard breaths slipped away, how the body stopped resisting and went limp. She shuddered. But this was the Wasteland. Kill or be killed. No room for hesitation, no room for morality…

Right?

Tears fell freely now. She bowed her head and shoved her fingers into her twisted locks. And not for the first or last time she cursed her father. "Daddy, where are you…?"


End file.
